Cloudy with a Chance of Doom

Cloudy with a chance of doom! That is how a friend described our chances of success with raging forest fires eating the landscape of Northern Ontario. While mindful of the hazards we could face, we were intent on turning dreams into reality and making this trip a tale to remember.

At 6:30 am on August 3rd, the roads were still fairly quiet. We’d left my home in Guelph, Ontario about half an hour earlier, headed for the team’s meeting point in Parry Sound. My four-year-old son, Killian, sat in the back seat while my father, Bev, sat up front with me. I had time to ponder what lay ahead. My father was already filling the morning silence with tales of his time in Northern Ontario, reliving experiences from nearly forty years ago. For him, this trip was a once in a lifetime chance to give the old bucket list a good kick. For my son, it was all about adventure! For me, it was a mission and added justification for spending the last eight months turning my stock 2002 4Runner into an overland-capable rig.

The idea of this adventure began with the very stories that my father was recounting beside me. Between 1977 and 1981, he worked for E.B. Eddy, a pulp and paper company performing logging operations in an area north of Sudbury, Ontario. As part of his job, he was tasked with marking out the location for logging roads in and around Cartier and Ramsey. Whenever maps of the area were out, he would trace the lines of the roads and lakes that he remembered or worked on during those early years. One spot in particular would come up often.

“My friend Gary and I tried to get to Jerome Mine once, but we never made it,” he would say. “There was too much flooding and we just couldn’t risk it.”

He always lamented his inability to make a second attempt. This trip would be that second attempt.

Our team consisted of the three generations of Livingston men (some smaller than others) in my 4Runner, Jay Butt and his girlfriend, Cathy, in his ’96 Land Cruiser, Dan Traina and his cousin, Rob, in Dan’s ‘04 Tacoma, and Steve Soper in his ‘98 4Runner. Our route would take us from Milnet, north of Sudbury, up a hydro cut and several logging roads to Highway 560 before heading west to travel the Sultan Industrial Road, built by E.B Eddy and opened to the public in 1978. From there, we planned to make our attempt on Jerome via the older of two supposed access roads to the mine site on Lake Opeepeesway. We had no way of knowing what to expect. The hydro cut could prove impassible. There might be nothing left of the access to Jerome, and then there were the forest fires to consider.

By 9:30 am, our team was assembled. We intended to meet farther north, but already the “chance of doom” prediction was beginning to cast its shadow and we’d had to adjust our plans. A forest fire, Parry Sound #33, was raging over more than 11,000 hectares of land and was within five kilometers of Highway 69. Evacuation notices were in place in several areas and there was risk of a highway shutdown.

In light of this, we gathered for a situation update and safety briefing. There would be no campfires on this trip due to a fire ban and awareness of potential fire hazards such as cigarette butts, mosquito coils, and hot catalytic converters was paramount.

As we headed north, the smell of fires and smoke began to permeate the air. Along the edge of the highway, stands of trees stood dead, branches full of leaves, but devoid of moisture. It was no wonder the fires had spread so rapidly.

We made good time, hitting the hydro cut by 1:30 pm, and were determined to put down some trail time before camping that night. As everyone aired down, I surveyed the landscape. The hydro cut was hilly and bleak, with marshlands in the low spots and an abundance of Alders and other growth that could swallow trails in a few short years if unused.

We wound our way along, the trail taking us in and out of the hydro cut to avoid the marsh areas. At one point, what appeared to be a mating pair of Golden Eagles took flight from a tall tree on the edge of the cut, pacing us as we headed north. Their massive wings, spanning over six feet across, carried them lazily up into the sky. It was a rare and beautiful sight that underscored the remote isolation of our travels.

Shortly after, we hit our first notable water crossing. Unsure of the depth, Jay waded in to scope it out. Better to find out in person than in vehicle. Once confident that the base was firm and no deeper than the height of our tires, I played team guinea pig as we filed through. Crossings like this were made possible by the dry year. If it had been any wetter, this would have been the end of the road. As it turned out, the end of the road came shortly after. Only eight kilometers in, the trail came to an abrupt end in a stand of trees and we were forced to divert east to Portelance Road.

Portelance Road is fairly well used and not nearly as rugged a travel choice as we had been planning on, but it turned out to be a real gem. For kilometer after kilometer, we were treated to spectacular views of steep, wooded hills, descending into a winding river that snaked along the edge of the road. Eventually, we found an opening back onto the hydro cut and began the search for a camping spot.

Exploring in Northern Ontario requires a good navigation system. Logging roads can go for dozens, even hundreds of kilometers before dead ending. They can also become a labyrinth of loops that double back on themselves, making the search for camp spots an easy way to get lost.

Fortunately, we stumbled upon a perfect spot on Trailer Lake, set right in the middle of the hydro cut. The water’s edge was perfect for swimming, the lake was full of fish, and the scenery was amazing.

Day two dawned and the team was packed up and on the road by 10:00 am. We were lucky enough to cross paths with a Hydro worker, out fishing with his kids, and learned that the remainder of the hydro cut was no longer driveable. Our best bet was to continue up Portelance Road, past a road outage where a culvert was being installed, and then make our way west to hook up with Highway 560.

Having successfully bypassed the culvert, we came to a bridge over some rapids – a perfect picture spot. All was not perfect, however. Steve’s 4Runner wouldn’t start. His alternator gave up the ghost. Years of valve covers leaking on it and the dusty, rough roads had done it in. Hours from anything and with no cell signal, the “chance of doom” prophesy was rearing its ugly head once again. This was a stark reminder of why thorough vehicle checks are a must before heading into remote areas.

At least there was a plan “B”. Steve had packed a spare alternator. Unfortunately, Steve accidentally brought a spare alternator for a completely different vehicle! In the blazing heat, the sound of Eeyore’s dour voice from Winnie-the-Pooh ran through my mind, saying “We’re all gonna die.”

Time for plan “C”. We would try to disassemble the alternator and clean it up with the hopes of getting it to work long enough to get us to civilization. While Steve and Dan’s Alternator Shop was in business at the back of the truck, Rob took on the role of roadside chef, barbecuing lamb shish-kebabs under an awning for the remainder of the team. While Killian explored with his “Poppa”, Jay and I discussed action plans. If we could get the truck running, we would head out along our intended route to the highway and take it to the Watershed Truck Stop on Highway 144. It would be largely highway miles and less rugged and dusty than the three and a half hour trek back the way we came. This would give the alternator the best chance of staying alive. From there, Steve would have to make arrangements to get his truck home.

After three hours, the alternator was reinstalled. It was the moment of truth. The truck started up, but all eyes were on the multi-meter. As we watched, the battery voltage began to climb. The guys did it! No time for celebration though; we were running on borrowed time. We had to get Steve out before the alternator died for good.

It was a hard goodbye. We made it to the Watershed. Everyone fuelled up and we pulled together for a final team picture before parting ways. Down to three trucks, we began exploring roads just to the west of the highway, looking for a spot to camp for the night. Given the long, hard day, nobody was in the mood to push on for Jerome. After several dead ends, we settled on a flat sandy clearing, surrounded by wild blueberries and raspberries, and went to work settling in for the night. My son was exhausted, but in good spirits, having found a sand dune to slide down and drive his R/C rock crawler on.

The next morning brought a smattering of rain. We quickly packed up in the wet and headed onto the Sultan Industrial Road, determined to make Jerome. There was an excitement as we travelled that could be felt through the conversation on the CB radios. This would be the day, the one we all came for!

The original access road to the mine was gone, having completely grown in over the years, so we made our way up the western access road. This one was clearly well traveled and, although Alders had made the trail tight, the path was solid and relatively smooth. We came across several swamps that would normally have flooded the roadway, including the one that originally stopped my father. Having made it farther than Bev’s original attempt, we approached the narrow spit of land that connected the peninsular mine site to the surrounding land. Along the trail, placards began to appear, indicating that a bridge was missing ahead. A part of me wanted to panic at the thought of being stopped only a few kilometers from our goal.

We were all in agreement though. Come hell or high water, we were going to make it! In the end, although the banks were a bit steep, the river crossing was passible. Once across, we were soon greeted by views of Lake Opeepeesway on both sides of us. To our surprise, we discovered a gravel boat launch that stretched off into the water, offering an amazing view of the lake and more great photo opportunities. Just beyond lay the gated access to Jerome Mine and our goal.

The mine, shut down in 1945 due to fire destroying the milling tower, produced 62,000 ounces of gold in the seven years that it was open. Jerome Mine is currently privately owned and “No Trespassing” signs were visible on the gated access.

My father left the area 37 years ago on the very long weekend that we started our adventure. Now, here we stood, having fulfilled his dream. As we collected for a group photo of our success, I began to wonder about the accomplishment. There was no gold at the end of this journey and the mine was closed off, but there were smiles on everyone’s faces. The trip was filled with golden moments that would never be forgotten. That was the true prize! We celebrated with lunch on the water and a swim to cool off.

Finally, it was time for the last leg of our adventure. We would make our way south, through Ramsey, and down the West Branch Road towards Espanola and civilization. If only it was that simple! Early on, we began to encounter downed trees. It appeared that a storm had recently wreaked havoc along the roadway. At several points, the road was completely blocked.

While Jay packed a chainsaw for just such occasions, my weapon of choice was a Silky Katanaboy 650 pull saw, jokingly referred to by the team as “The Butter Knife”. Despite the mockery, everyone quickly became a believer as we took turns dicing up eight inch diameter trees in record time.

Our evening’s stay would be a wet one, set up in a clearing with a crude hunting camp at the far end. Hunting camps such as these are common on crown land in Northern Ontario and unoccupied during most of the year. That said, we were careful not to disturb the site.

Despite the rain, the evening was filled with conversation of the trip’s highlights and funny moments. Eventually, conversation turned to the road home and the everyday grind that was to come.

Our last morning took on a surreal silence as we quietly prepped for departure. Jay’s Land Cruiser was packed up early and we said our quick goodbyes so that he and Cathy could get on the road back to Guelph. Having less distance to cover on their trip home, Dan and Rob shared a morning coffee and quiet conversation, intending to travel the remainder of West Branch and down to Espanola with us. From there, we would say goodbye and head onto Manitoulin Island for a few days of exploring and cottage relaxation.

The landscape of our memories has been permanently etched with the events of our adventure. I can’t help but picture Northern Ontario in its immovable, unchangeable ruggedness, knowing that our passing wouldn’t even register on its countenance. Perhaps that is what makes it so intimidating and yet so irresistible. Like those two eagles, gracing us with their presence, the landscape of the North evokes a sense of something so much greater than oneself. That is why Northern Ontario is worth exploring and why we will all be back for more.